A Taste of Desire(21)
A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he returned the handkerchief to his pocket and jammed the top hat back on his head. “If it were that easy.”
Lord Clayborough was the antithesis of her father in the ways that mattered most to her. He’d make a splendid husband, attentive but at the same time undemanding. He had no ambitions of amassing Croesus’s wealth, and he had a manner that told her he’d be a caring, concerned father.
Since they’d become acquainted, rare were the times that she could say that he had vexed her. That he should choose to do so now, the one time she needed him most was in alarmingly bad taste. “We shall just have to be more careful this time. Once I leave London, eloping will be a far more difficult endeavor.”
“But to make another attempt so soon would not only be indiscreet, but foolish.” He spoke in a fierce whisper, his gaze darting about the quiet of the dale.
If he thought they might be overheard, he could put that fear to rest. While the sounds of the Serpentine’s flowing waters created a natural impediment to the breeze carrying their voices, the handful of ladies strolling farther up were well out of hearing range.
In a flash of pure brilliance, the idea came to her. “I will tell him that you have compromised me.”
Madame Tussaud’s Chamber of Horrors drew less horrified looks than the one that contorted Lord Clayborough’s paled visage.
“Good God, we’d no sooner marry than you’d find yourself in widow weeds.” His Adam’s apple gave a frantic bob. “Or at the very least, your father would have one of his hired brutes make a eunuch of me.”
The Marquess of Bradford would never resort to anything as base or illegal as murder or maiming. However, knowing the kind of contempt her father held for Lord Clayborough and all gentlemen he considered of his ilk—men of little financial means—he would in all likelihood send her off to a convent … for life. It wasn’t as if she was his heir. Now, if she had been born a male—
Breaking that particular train of thoughts—for they were tracks bound to nowhere—Amelia focused her attention once again on the matter at hand: the cause of the lines of strain etched into the planes of her would-be husband’s face and dark strands of hair plastered wetly to his forehead.
His mouth opened. Before he could continue with a litany of the excuses why what she’d suggested was not sound in its reason, she held up her hand to stay the words. “You are correct, of course. When it comes to the matter of his son-in-law, my father will not be threatened or coerced.” How splendid it should be the one time she’d welcome his disinterest.
Relief appeared to slither down the length of Lord Clayborough’s frame. It was there in the way his shoulders came unhitched, loosening his rigid stance, and the resumption of color in his face.
“I am glad we are in agreement.” He smiled, but he still appeared a trifle uneasy.
“As we cannot marry immediately, you will have to come to Devon after my father has gone. By then I will be in residence at Lord Armstrong’s estate.”
The baron stumbled with his next step, but managed to remain upright. “Armstrong? You will be residing at Armstrong’s estate?”
Amelia shot him a sharp look. Had his voice just cracked upon uttering the viscount’s name? Surely he couldn’t be suffering from anything as preposterous as jealousy, for she’d not tolerate that sort of emotion in respect to her. It conveyed a possession no man would ever have of her. Not even her own husband.
“Yes, who else would you expect? In my father’s eyes, the man can do no wrong.”
Frowning, he raised his hand to his chin and began stroking the line of his jaw. “But Armstrong—”
“Oh please, I beg you, let us not discuss that odious man. It’s enough that I’m in this wretched situation. I’m well aware of the viscount’s reputation, but my father doesn’t appear to hold that against him. Men are allowed most liberties denied women.”
As if he feared the bitterness tainting her words would somehow turn on him, Lord Clayborough’s expression cleared, his hand dropping to his side. “Come, let us start back. I wouldn’t wish for your father to send his men out to bodily retrieve you should you stay too long,” he said wryly, his hand hovering beneath her right elbow as they turned and proceeded back in the direction of their waiting carriages.
“I will contact you after my father has left and I have settled in Devon. By then I should have a reasonable idea of how best to proceed with our plans.” Amelia slanted him a glance. He affirmed her statement with a slow, deliberate nod.